The Plug's Daughter

The Plug’s Daughter

Nika Michelle

Copyright 2015 Nika Michelle

Edited by Nika Michelle

Published by Leo Sullivan Presents/ Sullivan Productions LLC

www.leolsullivan.com

All rights reserved. Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above. No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without prior written consent from both the author and publisher Sullivan Productions LLC, except brief quotes used in reviews, interviews or magazines.

This is a work of fiction. It is not meant to depict, portray or represent any particular real person. All the characters, incidents and dialogue in this written work are the product of the author’s imagination and are not to be considered as real. Any references or similarities to actual events, entities, real people living or dead, or to real locations are intended for the sole purpose of giving this novel a sense of reality. Any similarities with other names, characters, entities, places, people or incidents are entirely coincidental.

Acknowledgements

I have to give thanks to God for giving me life and the gift of writing first and foremost. Also, thank you to my parents, siblings, family and close friends for always supporting me. You know who you are.

Thank you Leo Sullivan and the entire Leo Sullivan Presents/Sullivan Productions family.

Also a special thank you to my promoters Sharlene Smith and Sharon Bel. See how your names start out the same? I knew it was something special about you ladies. Thank you for everything.

To all of the authors and book clubs on social media that support me, thank you. I would name you all, but the page count won’t allow it. Lol. Much love.

Last, but not least, thank you to all of the readers. I would love to name all of you who support me, but as I stated before, I have to keep it short. *wink* No love lost though. I did post a status on Facebook on 9/17 asking for readers to drop their names for this page. I have to have this book to my publisher by 9/18, so I’ll add all of the names I can. If I didn’t mention you, you have my sincere apologies. You support is greatly appreciated and doesn’t go unnoticed.

Special shout out to Charles Lynch, Pat Johnson B (thank you for test reading), Shannon Joshua, Shatika Turner, Alexandra Branham, Chalane Moore, Christine Denise, Jacole Laryea, Tahysha Livestobefree, Nikki Burden, LaLa Hilton, Linda Marie Mota, Robin Goodman, Tami Orr, Sharon Simmons, Danielle Michelle, Elvisia Hickson, Kenisha A. Johnson, Cheryl Hayes (I love the purse), Lacresia Evans, Kiera Northington, Pam Williams, Tammy Jernigan, Umeki Brown, Ladee Bern, Latora Pittman, Hope Msmaewest Jones, Lashan Denise Cooper-Davis, Clarine Andujar, Cassandra Glenn, Kenia Michelle, Lorriane Tillman, Quaran Owens, Debbi Kowalik, Michal Howard Moore, Andrea Williams, Latarsha Cates, Wilona Arango, Tonischa Craig, Shanicia Jackson, Christy Silver, Nicole Prillerman, Keela Lynch, Natasha Vaughan, Denise Fuller, Sunnie Robinson and Janelia Brooks.

If your name wasn’t mentioned please charge it to my head and not my heart. Thanks again.

Prologue

Keenyn

             
The loud, banging sound woke me up immediately.

              “I know she in there nigga! Open the fuckin’ door before I shoot it down!” The voice was deep and raspy.

              ‘Oh fuck,’ I thought as I grabbed my glock nine from under the sofa cushion.

              On my way to the door I thought about how shit had played out. The only thing that I was guilty of was developing feelings for a woman who was supposed to be off limits to me.

              I peered through the peep hole and confirmed who was knocking on my door like the Feds. Although I hadn’t been prepared for the intrusion, something had told me when I first heard the noise that it was him.

              After putting the gun in the waist of my jeans I opened the door. He stared at me with eyes full of malice.

              “Where the fuck she at?” He asked.

              “Who you talkin’ bout yo’?” I played dumb.

              “You know who the fuck I’m talkin’ ‘bout nigga!” His gun was out and he held it against my temple after closing the door behind him.

              He was alone which was a plus, but I was sure that he’d disturbed the neighbors. I could only hope nobody had called the cops.

              My face was balled up in anger. He just didn’t know. How the fuck was he at my spot with that bullshit?

              That nigga cocked the gun as his fiery red eyes stared me down. “You fuckin’ her?”

              You really wanna take it there?” I asked as I glared at him. “It ain’t what the fuck you think it is.”

              Shit what the hell did I have to lose? Before he could take a breath I had my gun pointed at his head too.

              “What is it then motherfucka?” Spit flew from his mouth and landed on my face. That shit infuriated me for real. He was surprised that I had pulled out on his ass too. “You either fuckin’ her, or you ain’t.”

              “I’m just tryna protect her,” I said without flinching.

              He let out a sarcastic chuckle. “Protect her? I can do that shit myself nigga!”

              “Well, obviously you ain’t!”

              He smirked at me and then let out a grunt. “What the fuck you protectin’ her from then?”

              I shook my head. “You won’t know if I kill you.” My menacing eyes shined fearlessly.

              “Nigga, you gon’ make me kill yo’ ass,” he spat.

              “Either way you won’t know the truth,” I said.

              The hatred that was in his eyes earlier turned into curiosity.  He was still mad, but he wanted to know what I was talking about. I didn’t say anything right away. Shit, he still had his piece to my head and I still had mine to his. She would be mad at the both of us if it all went left. More than likely she’d feel betrayed, not to mention that she’d be in pain. I couldn’t help what I felt though, so if it had to be a war, then so be it. I was in love with her and I would die ‘bout her. The only thing was, he would too and I knew that shit. Either way I looked at it, I wasn’t lowering my gun as long as his was on me. I didn’t give a fuck. When it came to my life, no man’s life mattered and I wasn’t afraid to shoot.

Chapter 1

Keenyn

Two Weeks Earlier

             
“Man, all I want is a three five. You know I’m good for it,” JJ’s begging ass was always trying to get a freebie.

              I shook my head and sighed. He was my home boy and although I thought about doing it, I wasn’t going to ever make any money fucking with niggas like him.

              “Look nigga, I’m gon’ front it, but you better pay me back. Shit, I done gave you enough trees to plant a fuckin’ forest. I know you tryna get some pussy from Felicia and shit, but you better make it happen with a couple loud ass blunts. Stretch that shit. I know you got some cheap ass liquor at the crib and some fruit juice. Bitches love sweet drinks and shit. If you got some Limearitas nigga you in there.”

              JJ laughed as I passed him the plastic baggie and then put it to his nose for a smell. “You a stingy, smart mouthed ass mufucka.”

              Yeah, I did have a way of stinging a mufucka with my words, but stingy I was not. “Stingy? Nigga, if I was stingy yo’ ass would be leavin’ here empty handed. Get the fuck out my crib. My girl’s on her way over anyway.”

              My face was balled up as I kicked that nigga out of my spot. Why the fuck was he always broke? Probably because he was a fucking trick who didn’t mind spending dough on random broads. We had grown up together and shit, but he was starting to become a financial burden. Not only did he want some free weed every other day, but that nigga was all up in my closet trying to cop an outfit for the night. For real nigga? Go get a fucking job, or a real hustle. Ain’t no chick going to be satisfied with that bogus, fugazzi ass bullshit. The nigga was always claiming to be on, but he wasn’t making no funds. How the hell could you be on and you couldn’t even afford to smoke? Flexing ass nigga.

              JJ stood up and rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “You be on some bullshit man.”

              “You still talkin’ nigga? I need yo’ ass to get to walkin’ out my shit.” I was laughing, but I was as serious as a heart attack.

              He put the small baggie of bud in his pocket and headed toward the door. “A’ight nigga. I’ll holla at you later.”

              I didn’t say a word as he closed the door behind him, but I got up to lock it. After that I headed to the bathroom to get right for my bae Elena.

*  *  *

              As I stared at my image in the mirror, I couldn’t help but be feeling myself. I was a nice looking nigga with swagga. Not only that, but at the age of twenty two, I had a lot going for myself. At 6’0 even, 190 pounds, I was built solid as a mountain, fuck a damn rock. My workout regimen was deadly and I executed it at least three times a week. A nigga stayed in the gym. My body was my temple and so I watched what I ate too. It was important that I drank a lot of water to maintain my clear, milk chocolate complexion. I only ate fish and poultry. No beef or pork had ever been in my system. My late mother didn’t eat either of them and neither did I.

              With closely trimmed facial hair and a neat, low haircut, I tried not to stand out amongst my peers too much. Most niggas were into the thick beards and shit, but I believed in keeping it clean and crisp. I was taking classes at Clark Atlanta University in Criminal Justice, which sounded crazy because of my extracurricular activities. I needed to be on top of my game though. However, I didn’t plan to be in the game forever, even if I was only in it on a small scale. I only sold weed, and that was because I didn’t want to indulge in anything that would get me too much time if shit went the wrong way.

              I was a careful nigga though. My clientele was very exclusive and I didn’t fuck with random niggas and shit. Not just that, but I only sold an ounce or more at a time, nothing less. I copped my product from the plug that I’d known since I was seven years old. When my mother died from pancreatic cancer I was only four. I lived in Raleigh, North Carolina with my mother after my parents had split up.

My mom, Cherice Gaines, was a beautiful woman who had loved me unconditionally. When she got sick my life changed drastically. At first she was a vibrant twenty six year old woman, but then she wasn’t anymore. She’d been a heavy drinker since her teenaged years and it had affected her health greatly. I knew that she was drinking even more after my father had left us when I was three. He decided that marriage and a family was too much for him, but he still provided for me. He’d even come pick me up every other weekend out of the month and I spent summers with him in Atlanta.

              My mother had moved in with my grandmother, who was a registered nurse, after their split. I had everything I wanted at my grandma’s expense. She died in a car accident when I was four and after that we lost everything. We ended up living with relatives in not so good neighborhoods. That was my first real exposure to the streets. Not even a year after that my mother was dead and I knew that depression and loneliness had contributed to it. A few days after my mother’s funeral my pops, Kenard Gaines, took me in. He didn’t work an honest job. He was a street hustler who did street shit and his ways had rubbed off on me. After years of doing his thing he decided to retire and then I took over his weed clientele. Nowadays he was living the straight and narrow life on his savings and I had kept his plug.

              A pair of black and white J’s were on my feet and I was rocking a True Religion fit of black jeans and a white and black T. My wardrobe was also something that I took pride in as well as my physical appearance. I wouldn’t describe myself as a gangster, but I could hold my own in the streets. It wasn’t necessary for me to have a crew. The least amount of niggas around me the better. I had my boys and all, but I didn’t depend on them to make money. I made my coins by myself.

              At the sound of the doorbell my heart leaped. Elena was something special and we’d been together for a little over a year. I’d met her two years ago at Clark when she was a freshman. She was a good girl, so it took a while for her to agree to let me take her out. Her major was Biology because she wanted to go to medical school to be a Pediatrician.